In his more advanced years, Allan, who was naturally of good and benevolent dispositions, became peculiarly irritable; he fancied that his merits as a poet had been overlooked, and the feeling preyed deeply upon his mind. He entertained extreme political opinions, and conceived a dislike to his native country, which he deemed had not sufficiently estimated his genius. Much in opposition to the wishes of his friends, he sailed for New York in his 67th year. He survived the passage only six days; he died at New York on the 1st June 1841.
Robert Allan is entitled to an honourable position as a writer of Scottish song; all his lyrics evince a correct appreciation of the beautiful in nature, and of the pure and elevated in sentiment. Several of his lays are unsurpassed in genuine pathos.[92]
[92] We have to acknowledge our obligations to Mr John Macgregor, of Paisley, son-in-law of Mr Allan, for most of the particulars contained in this short memoir. Mr Macgregor prepared an extended life of the poet for our use, which, however, was scarcely suited for our purpose. A number of Mr Allan's songs, transcribed from his manuscripts, in the possession of his son in New York, were likewise communicated by Mr Macgregor. These being, in point of merit, unequal to the other productions of the bard, we have not ventured on their publication.
Blink over the burn, my sweet Betty, Blink over the burn, love, to me; O, lang hae I look'd, my dear Betty, To get but a blink o' thine e'e. The birds are a' sporting around us, And sweetly they sing on the tree; But the voice o' my bonny sweet Betty, I trow, is far dearer to me.
The ringlets, my lovely young Betty, That wave o'er thy bonnie e'ebree, I 'll twine wi' the flowers o' the mountain, That blossom sae sweetly, like thee. Then come o'er the burn, my sweet Betty, Come over the burn, love, to me; O, sweet is the bliss, my dear Betty, To live in the blink o' thine e'e.
Come awa, hie awa, Come and be mine ain, lassie; Row thee in my tartan plaid, An' fear nae wintry rain, lassie. A gowden brooch, an' siller belt, Wi' faithfu' heart I 'll gie, lassie, Gin ye will lea' your Lawland hame, For Highland hills wi' me, lassie. Come awa, &c.
A bonnie bower shall be thy hame, And drest in silken sheen, lassie. Ye 'll be the fairest in the ha', And gayest on the green, lassie. Come awa, &c.